The Guest
by astorianox
Summary: When Snatchers bring Hermione to Malfoy Manor, Draco orders them to leave her. He keeps her there with him, but can't fathom how ungrateful she's being. After all she is safe here, provided with gourmet meals, a luxurious bed, even a grand library at her disposal. Draco beleives he is keeping her from a far worse fate, it's time she believes it to. (light B&tB themes)
1. chapter 1

It wasn't the storm raging outside that woke Draco. During storms was usually when he rested the soundest. He opened his eyes as memories of his dream slipped away. Lightning cast ominous shadows across the ceiling of his bedroom. He sat up and took his wand from beneath his pillow. A crash unrelated to the thunder sounded from somewhere in the manor. Draco's wards were exceptional, it was highly unlikely intruders had made it past them. Whoever was causing a ruckus at this hour better have a damn good reason.

Two soaking wet men stood in the foyer. Water was pooling on the ivory tiles around their feet. Struggling between them was a girl. A familiar girl.

At first she was too busy thrashing and cursing to notice Draco's appearance. The two men kept ahold of her even as she attempted to bite the one binding her arms, a brave move for someone in such a compromising position.

Draco cleared his throat and their struggle instantly ceased. They all looked at him, but Draco looked at her. Her expression was a peculiar one, she appeared both horrified and releived upon seeing him, and also a little shocked. Of course her capturers wouldn't have politely informed her of where she was being taken. Surprise!

"Gentlemen," Draco said, "I do believe you have been told not to disturb my home at such an ungodly hour."

The taller of the two men, Draco knew by name. Scabior, a talentless and low ranking follower of the Dark Lord who currently worked as a Snatcher alongside the werewolf, Greyback, who Draco was thrilled to see was not here with him. The second man, short and ruddy looking, Draco did not recognize. It was Scabior who did the talking.

"Yes, sir, beg your pardon, sir. But we came across this one unexpectedly. She was traveling alone near our camp. We chased her to the cliff's edge. She tried to jump off, right into the sea, barely caught her in mid air! Guess she'd rather've died than come with the likes of us, is that right, girly?" he teased, bending low to leer in her face.

She spat at him. Draco couldn't hardly blame her. The shorter man jerked her arm so hard it seemed likely to break. Draco flinched involuntarily, but it didn't appear to phase her. Her jaw was clinched and her eyes alert as she continued to struggle violently. The man hoisted her a bit higher so that she had to stand on the tips of her toes to keep them on the floor.

It was obvious both of the men were clueless as to whom exactly they'd captured. Had they known, she would have been taken directly to the Dark Lord. Scabior may have even finally received the praise he was so desperate for. Aquiring one of Potter's closest allies, what leverage that would give the Dark Lord. Everyone knew there's nothing Potter wouldn't do for Hermione Granger.

"Regardless," Draco continued carefully, "I am displeased at being disturbed in such a manner. As you well know, you are to send a notice before you arriving with prisoners. You are excused this time, but I won't be so generous if it happens again. Leave at once, and I may not tell the Dark Lord you struggle to follow simple protocols."

"Sincerest apologies, Mastor Malfoy, truly sorry," Scabior said as he bowed his head. "It's been a long while since anyone's been captured and we were eager to make you aware."

"And now you have. Leave the prisoner, be on your way. I will handle it from here," Draco said.

The men looked reluctant to release their catch with so little pay off.

"Let me remind you, with my father gone I am in charge, and you will do as I say. Go, now" he said with finality.

They released the prisoner and she dropped to her knees. The two men disapparated with a pop, leaving Draco alone with her. Hermione looked up into his face, but did not speak.

"You're lucky. It seems you've caught me in a rather generous mood."

"You're going to let me go?" She asked almost disbelievingly.

"Of course not," Draco said. "I am allowing you to stay."

"I won't," she started, but his glare silenced her.

"If those two get their hands on you again, well, I won't be there to save you."

"Save me?" Is being your prisoner really any better?"

"Yes," Draco said simply, and he turned away. "I won't lock you up. However, you can't apparate out of here, so don't bother trying. It's very secure, I assure you. It's only you and I tonight. I have not allowed prisoners in this house since father became one himself in Azkaban. There are several bedrooms to choose from. Make yourself comfortable."

He looked over his shoulder and caught her eye. Judging from her appearance she had been leading a rough lifestyle for sometime. Perhaps she would be grateful just to get some sleep.

"Good night, and sweet dreams," Draco called with an air of contempt.

"Wait!" She said, finding her voice. "Why are you pretending to do me a favor? I haven't forgotten what it was like in school. We loathed each other! Why not just send me back out into the world to fend for myself?" She asked breathlessly.

He turned to face her again. She was still soaking wet, her hair was wild, and she was pale. Purple cresents hung beneath her eyes, but her cheeks were flushed, she still had a bit of fight left in her. She must be cold, having come from the outside wearing not much more than a tshirt. It was a pitiful sight. How she had made it this far, Draco did not know. She was still waiting for an answer.

"I told you" he said slowly "I am feeling generous. In fact, I cannot say it's unpleasant seeing a familiar face, even if it's one I don't much care for."

She got up off her knees and looked toward the fireplace. Without asking, she sat down before it in an ornate, velvet arm chair and began warming her hands near the flames.

"This is your house?" She asked.

"More than a house actually. Welcome to Malfoy Manor. I hope you enjoy your stay." He said sarcastically.

She looked him in the eye this time, and the sneer faded from his face instantly. It was surprisingly difficult to keep up his normally cruel facade. She was quite pathetic at the moment.

"A proper host, I suppose, would offer you something to drink," he said.

"You're no host. You're a guard."

"That's right. I am your guard, you'll thank me later. You're far safer with me, I assure you."

She actually laughed. "You, I can handle."

Was she challenging him? He moved closer to her.

"You have a funny way of showing gratitude for being saved."

"You didn't save me, Malfoy." She emphasized his surname, letting him know they were not on friendly terms.

"I beg to differ." He snapped his fingers. With a pop, a house elf appeared carrying a silver tray with a steaming teapot and cakes and offered them to her. She accepted hesitantly.

"They're not poison" Draco assured her. "I want you alive, you are more fun that way." His words came out sly, it was no wonder she didn't trust him. But that was okay. He preferred to be feared, respected, approached cautiously. He was conditioned to be this way. It was satisfying in a way, however, it prevented him from having any real relationships with anyone other than his own mother and father, and he couldn't exactly call those relationships healthy. Having her here could be a good thing, he may be able to benefit from it. After all, she owed him her life.

In the light of the fire as she warmed up and dried, she began to look more as he remembered, with wild curls, thick eyebrows, and a bossy sort of demeanor. Now, however, he noticed new things. She looked.. soft. That was the only word for it. In contrast to his own harsh and angular features, hers were soft, rounded, delicately curved. Strange for him to notice such a thing. He almost smiled. This seemed to unnerve her.

"Are you just going to stare?" She asked.

"Pardon me. You would be used stares if that's how you usually dress." He said, nodding toward her shirt that had been nearly transparent moment ago while wet. Yes, he thought, that will get under her skin. It did. The look she gave him was a bitter one. From under her eyelids he could barely see her pupils. Her brow was furrowed and her jaw set. For a moment he wondered if she would spit at him too.

Draco kept his tone light when he spoke, for that seemed to annoy her the most. "I would have thought all that time with Potter and Weasley, you would have grown accustomed to the hungry gazes.."

And she hit him. Right across the face before he ever saw it coming. It burned like the fire before them. Apparently he had said the magic words and struck a chord she didn't want played. He wasn't even angry. He smiled his coldest smile and leaned closer to her face. She didn't back down, just stared him fiercely in the eye.

"That's the second time you have struck me since we've known each other, Granger. I'm beginning to think you do not wish to be friends," he whispered.

"Malfoy," he could feel her breath on his face when she spoke, "you and I will never be friends. I won't be a pawn in this little game of yours."

"Well, then" he said thinking quickly, for his mind had become suddenly foggy, "don't be a pawn, be a queen. Do you enjoy Chess? We can play if you like."

Out of thin air, Draco conjured an ancient looking Wizard's Chess board. She looked perplexed, for which he was grateful. She was a sharp girl, but if he just played his cards right.. She would not unravel all he had strived to become, he would not let her. It was critical he remain in control.

"On second thought," he lay the Chess board down, "you look absolutely dreadful. Best get some rest. We will pick back up in the morning. After all, we have all the time in the world."

Draco backed out of the room before she could respond, and left her to ponder her current perdicament. Climbing back into his king sized bed as the raindrops continued spattering on the windows, Draco knew he would sleep well the remainder of the night.

He driftes off easily, and for once he dreamt not of masked men with unknown identities, or of blood curdling screams from people he could not see, or of serpents watching him from the darkest corners. He dreamt only of a girl. She was sitting before him, with nothing but a Chess board between them. Her brown eyes were reading him from behind a curtain or curls as she slid her fingers over the ivory pieces, moving her queen to back his king into a corner. Her lips curved into a wicked smile, and she whisped "your move."

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the first installment. Reviews and criques are beyond appreciated, please give me your feedback! Also, I work mostly from mobile and have no beta reader, so there are bound to be some spelling or grammatical errors I missed when editing.

Stay tuned for the next chapter coming soon, and again, these characters are not mine, they belong to the great J.K. Rowling!


	2. chapter 2

By morning the rain had stopped, but a thick blanket of steely grey clouds remained. Draco arose with purpose and excitement like a child on Christmas. There was no sign of Hermione in the main living quarters. Perhaps she had tried to escape, perhaps she succeeded. No, not under this security. She must have took his offer and found a bed to occupy. He searched guestrooms on various floors until he found her.

She had chosen the smallest of all the rooms, one with silvery textured wallpaper, and a four poster bed. Laying on top the duvet, she slept quietly with her face obscured by a mess of hair. An urge to brush it aside surprised him, he resisted it. For a moment he watched the strands flutter from her breathing, but his gaze seemed to stir her, and he didn't wish to be caught looming. What would she think, he had been admiring her?

Improvising, he greeted her boisturously. "Good morning, Granger, hope you're rested."

Her eyes popped open and she recoiled. "Do you mind?" Her voice was raspy with sleep.

"You're hardly indecent. That's what you were wearing last night. I suppose I could have mentioned the armoires are enchanted to provide each guest with appropiate clothes customized to their size. Do change out of those rags before breakfast."

She didn't look offended. "It must be easy to remain well dressed when you're afforded the luxury of not being on the run," she retorted.

Tugging at her shirt so it covered the bare inches of her exposed stomach, she slid off the bed. Finding proper nutrition was also a reserved luxury for those not on the run, apparantly. She was much thinner now than he remembered.

"Bathe as well. Breakfast will be served when you're through."

To amuse himself as he waited, Draco used his wand to form intricate shapes in the steam rising from his teacup. Three quarters of an hour passed but he did not dine without her. He may have inteherited arrogance from his father, but he had learned manners from his mother. As he was trying to find symbols in the dregs of his tea and pondering the idiocracy of divination, she arrived at last.

"You must have really enjoyed the bath, perhaps it's a nice change from washing in a mop bucket?" A snide comment before noon should set the tone for the day.

"Implying I've never properly bathed before, clever," she said. "For your information though, I got lost. It's as if the rooms have all moved since last night."

"Oh, They have," he assured her. "Just a precaution, I can't have some traitor go and give the layout of my dwellings to the enemy."

Choosing the seat at the opposite end of the long dining table, she sat and allowed the house elf to drape a cloth napkin over her lap. It then filled her plate with poached eggs, ham, and frenchtoast, before pouring her tea and juice. She thanked it excessively.

"How long must I stay here?" She asked as she began to eat a bit ravenously.

"My, eager to leave, are you not?" He asked without answering her question. "Tell me, how much progress were you making out there, eh? What was your plan? Did you have a destination?"

He was genuinely curious. Having been within the walls of the manor for some time, and with no one he called a friend to tell him stories of the outside world, he had remained in the dark. Death Eaters dropped in occasionally, but simply out of habit. Since his father had gone to Azkaban, and his mother found remaining in the manor unbearable, Draco had been its sole inhabitant. He only guessed that the non purebloods and Dumbledore supporters were still suffering, either on the run, in hiding, or like the one in front of him, getting themselves captured. Realizing she had chose to completely ignore his question, he cleared his throat.

"I heard you, it's just none of your business. Why would I tell you?" She asked.

"Why not? I'm merely curious as to how someone of your kind has survived on their own."

"I wasn't always alone. However, I am more than capable of taking care of myself, so save your concern."

"Concern? Ha! You've mistaken."

"Have I?" She asked, tilting her head slightly.

The gesture nearly made him question himself. He shook his head slightly, hoping she hadn't noticed him falter.

"You know what I think?"

He didn't want to know, honestly.

"I think you're doubting yourself, your choices, having landed in such a predicament. Perhaps you're even feeling a bit resentful, being born into a family that bases everything around the purity of your bloodline and requires you to serve a master who uses you like a puppet."

She looked him dead in the eye when she spoke, confident in her words. To think, he had once believed her to be a meek.

"I don't resent being on the side of power, that's for damn sure!" He tried to put force behind his words, but they fell flat.

She smiled, and he lost it. Rising gracelessly from the table, he walked past half a dozen empty chairs to reach her. She stood up as well.

"I won't allow you to make a mockery of me," he snarled.

"Mocking you? I'm merely curious." She echoed his own words back to him in such a falsely sweet voice that she surely must have learned it from him.

"Brave little Gryffindor, aren't you? How many times now has that sharp tongue has gotten you in trouble?"

"I would rather be condemned for speaking my mind than conforming just to feel safer, or to appease my parents. Honestly, Mafoy. I always thought you more of a rebel than that."

"You don't know anything! You haven't any idea what I am capable of, stop fooling yourself!" He yelled, slamming his hand on the table so hard the china dishes rattled.

Who the hell was she to push his buttons? She was forcing his hand, making him prove himself. Seizing her by the wrists, he drew her nearer to his face. She struggled to remove herself from his grasp. When he was unwilling to clutch her fragile wrists any tighter, and she slipped free, abandoning her food all together as she stormed away. Before she was across the room, there was a loud pop, and the stranger who had come with Scabior last night apparated before them.

"Mastor Malfoy, sir, I've come to retrieve the girl," he said in a greasy sounding voice. "I told some of the others about her and they suppose she could be interrogated for information, something useful. It'd be smart to learn why she was running, aftee all."

The man turned and looked at her with a greedy expression on his face, he was almost licking his lips with anticipation.

Draco clinched his fist, seething with an anger different from what he was feeling a moment before. He did not like being lied to. Being highly skilled in leglimancy, within seconds he was certain of the fucker's true intention.

"Is that so?" Draco said cooly, playing along.

"Yes sir, they want her brought in at once."

Fear bloomed in her eyes, and to Draco's surprise, she inched closer to him, he could feel heat coming off her body. Were her insides on bloody fire? No, he mustn't be distracted. This could work to his advantage.

"Well then," Draco said, clapping his hands together, "by all means, take her."

She looked scandlized when Draco stepped away and gestured toward her. As the man reached for her, Draco knew there were only seconds, but he would wait. The man closed a grimey hand around her upper arm.

"Get you're bloody hands off me!" She shrieked.

"There, there, girlie. Best to not struggle," he said. His leer exposed rotting, yellow teeth.

"You won't," she looked quickly back to Draco, "you won't let him have me!"

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"My sincerest appriciation, Mastor Malfoy, and good day to you, sir."

"Please!" She said more frantically now, "please, let me stay! Draco, please!"

Ah, the magic word, and in the knick of time, too. Draco hadn't ever had any intention of letting that sick fuck have her for his own personal use, but he thought Granger would benifit from having to ask to stay. What Draco hadn't anticipated was the sort of fire that was ingited within him upon hearing his name on her lips for the first time.

Draco had the man on the floor before he knew what hit him.

"Stupefy!" He bellowed, drawing his wand at lightening speed and aiming directly at the man's throat. She fell into Draco with the sudden force of being released. He steadied her, and went to stand over the man, aiming his wand at his head.

"Are you going to kill him?" She asked.

He looked over his shoulder at her. He could if he wanted to, but no, this was better. "Obliviate" he said quietly. The mans eyes went blank momentarily.

"I will get rid of him, wait for me the foyer."

She obeyed. Draco felt strange. Perhaps it was because she seemed so coveted by another, perhaps he wasn't fond of the man attempting to steal what wasn't his. Maybe it was that she chose him, Draco, the lesser of the two evils. But when he looked inside that foul creature's mind, and it was confirmed what Draco had already suspected, an instict to protect Hermione coursed through his body. He wanted to stomp that man's face and break his fingers to ensure he would never again lay a finger on her, but he resisted. Instead, Draco summoned the house elf and commanded it take and leave him somewhere far away. The elf obeyed, and Draco composed himself before entering the foyer.

She was leaning on the billiards table with her head down. He checked his pocketwatch out of habit while he thought about what to say, but nothing came to him. Perhaps he had been alone here too long now, and forgotten how to interact with people. She noticed him and looked up. Her dark eyes were shining and red, he again felt the urge to reach out and touch her, but compromised by walking forward to stand next to her. Draco hoped his thought ls weren't showing on his face as plainly as hers were. He had protected her, that was enough. She deserved no more than that, he told himself.

When she spoke, her voice was unlike he had heard it before. It was deep and throaty, quivering slightly as she chose her words.

"You.. you were going to let him take me away?"

Draco didn't speak immediately. He realized now they were uncomfortably close. Her eyes were drilling into him.

"Well, Id ecided it may prove useful to keep you here. Besides," Draco continued, "he was not acting on orders. Just fancied you, regretted handing you over to me at all. I do not tolerate being lied to. He was greedy and undeserving." Draco finished.

She was still looking at him, he wished she wouldn't.

"Thank you, Draco."

The second time she said his name it sent an involuntery shiver down his spine. He looked at her now. Actually looked at her. Damn. How he ignored it before seemed impossible. She appeared to have lost her nerve and dropped her gaze. Unable to stop himself, his right hand acting on its own accord, he gently lifted her chin. Fuck. How would he recover from this?

Thinking quickly, he leaned in and whispered near her ear, "I told you, you would thank me."

With that, he stepped back, feeling as though he had regained control of the situation.

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger. I quite enjoy denying people that which they so desperately desire. Now since you're going no where, get comfortable. Find a way to pass the time. The offer still stands for a game of Chess, if you're in the mood to take a loss."

He left her there, standing alone. It was almost easy, playing the role. He would make a fine actor if he needed to work for his money, but his fortune was ensured as was his future. It didn't really matter how he felt deep down about anything at all. This behavior was expected and accepted, and Draco excelled in discipline. Even if he were to spend the remainder or his life playing the part, confined within these walls alone, it would without a doubt be better than being out there. The quickest way to find himself on the wrong side of the fence now would be to choose this time to act on sympathy and emotions. No, that simply would not do.


	3. chapter 3

Draco observed his newfound company over the passing days. Hermione didn't speak much, and when she did, it was in a soft, passive voice. It would have been pleasant, had it not sounded so defeated. On the seventh day of her stay, she did not come out of her room.

It was evening when Draco finally knocked on the door of the small silver bedroom. When there was no answer, he pushed it open. Hermione sat in the windowsill with her head pressed against the glass.

"Something interesting out there?" He asked.

"Grey clouds," she said, "same as always."

It was true, with the overpopulation of dementors as of late, the sun was always masked by a sickly smog.

"Well if that's all then-"

"A few owls have passed. I miss getting letters, interacting with people." She said to the window more than him.

He was almost offended. Was he not people?

"I don't miss it much," Draco said. When she added nothing, he continued. "I suppose we could talk, if you wish, until I find a better way to spend the evening."

"No, thank you." She said flatly.

Now he really was offended.

"Am I that despicable?" He laughed, trying to sound nonchalant. She still did not answer. "It's rather rude to blatantly ignore someone when they're speaking to you."

"I miss my friends," she said to the window. "I don't know where they are, if they're okay. I don't know if I'll ever see them again. I miss my parents, too, of course," her voice was straining now, "but Harry and Ron are just as much my family. I'd give anything to talk to them right now. But I don't expect you to understand," she turned to face him now, 9"you never had any real friends."

Draco's eye twitched. It was as though she had hit him again, but without lifting a finger.

"That's because I never needed any." He said.

Something about the smile she gave him made Draco feel vulerable, exposed. Not the same as when the Dark Lord used to invade his mind, but like he felt as a child when he would lie to his mother, and she didn't have to say she knew the truth, but she always did.

"Forget it, Granger. You're not worth the time it would take to explain why you're better off without your so called friends."

Hermione didn't say anything, but just like his mother, she didn't have to.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have more important things that require my attention."

Draco bolted down the corridor. With each step, his agitation grew. It felt as though steam was erupting from his ears. What the hell was her problem? What piss poor manners she had, speaking to her host that way. He opened his home to her, and she didn't have the decency to even feign gratitude? So what if she misses someone? Would she really prefer to be living in sqaulor with Potter and Weasley, travelling by night and eating whatever crumbs they managed to gather?

Yes, she would. The realization made Draco's feet stop before the rest of him, nearly costing him his balance. She had all but spelled it out. To her, that existance the better option, she would rather struggle to live as long as it was alongside her friends. That was something Draco felt certain he would never understand. Anyone else would have been grateful for this, they would choose this, but not Hermione Granger.

Still fuminy, Draco found himself in the ballroom that had at one time it had held grand parties for a certain class of guests. His parents had enjoyed extravagance at one time. He could almost see visions of men and women in their best clothes, laughing and toasting. He could nearly hear the music of the string quartet. It was haunting. Things would never be that way again. Did he care? Not really, maybe. Why should he?

To hell with dinner. Draco needed a break. A flick of his wand illuminated the dozen chandleiers overhead, and wound the victrola. He conjured a bottle of aged, elf-made meade, and within an hour the first bottle had been almost drained and another summoned for good measure.

He strolled about the room pointing his wand when the mood struck him and sending various antiques or chairs across the room. His aggression would build and deplete. For the first time in a long time, he couldn't make sense of how he was feeling. Perhaps because he could not recall the last time he felt something. Lost in his own thoughts, Draco didn't notice someone appear in the doorway. Not until she was right behind him and called out his name did he come back to reality.

He lowered the bottle from his lips in surpise, having momentarily forgotten he was for once not alone.

"You never came to dinner," she said. "I heard music, so I followed. I hadn't heard music in so long."

Her eyes explored the room, Draco watched her curiously. It was like reading a book that was a bit too advanced. He couldn't figure her out. She was probably disappointed finding only him yet again.

"Care for a drink?" He asked.

She looked down at the bottle and bit her lower lip, debating.

"I would, thanks."

She took the bottle from his hand and tipped it back without waiting for a glass. Equal parts shocked and amused, Draco smirked. How lady like. She returned the bottle to him, considerably lighter. Hermione moved towards the center of the floor. Maybe he imagined it, but he thought she was swaying to the music.

"Do you dance?" He asked, hating himself immediately. That was far too close to asking her if she would like to dance.

"No, not really. Not anymore. I mean I'm no good."

"Bloody hell! You, not good at something? I'm surprised your head didn't explode at the words alone."

Pink crept up her cheeks, and she smiled. The only smiles Draco had seen of late were greedy sneers of Death Eaters, or insincere grimaces from people who simply feared being cursed if they appeared disrespectful. Then there was the sorrowful smile of his mother, which bothered him most of all. This one, however, this smile was real. It brightened the room somehow.

"I seem to remember a time when you were fairly confident in your dancing. Who was it you attended the Yule ball with? Wasn't it some bloke who fancied himself a Quidditch player?"

Her cheeks were blazing now, but she continued to smile. "Don't pretend as if you don't remember Viktor Krum. All of Durmstrang sat right at the Slytherin table during meals."

"Krum was overrated."

"Ha! I suppose you think of yourself as the superior seeker? Why didn't you go on to be a professional Quidditch player then?

"My future was set. I didn't need to play for money. Anyway, my skills have nothing to do with that glorified, Bulgarian oaf."

"Viktor wasn't an oaf! He was humble, and a fine dancer, too."

"Didn't mean to touch a nerve, Granger. Forgot you two were an item. I saw Viktor dance at the ball however, and his dancing skills made his coordination on the Quidditch pitch look refined."

"Ah, of course you imagine yourself to be the better seeker and the better dancer."

"Do you doubt it?"

"I do, actually."

"Well allow me to prove myself." Draco extended his hand, holding his breath. She eyed him, clearly under the impression he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. Hesitantly, she reached for his hand.

Before their fingers touched, a distant crash caused them both to jump.

"Stay here," Draco said, "do not stray from this room."

He followed the sound which brought him to the living quarters. Cowering over a pile of broken china was Draco's house elf. It's fingers were shaking and bleeding as it collected to shards from the floor.

"Chauncey, what are you doing? It's to early to serve my nightly tea, and use the broom for Merlin's sake," Draco said.

"I told him to use his filthly little fingers. It will teach the mongruel not to put sugar in my tea."

Draco froze. The hair on the back of his neck stood up at the sound of her voice.

He turned. Sitting in the chair that his mother usually occupied was someone who only faintly resembled her. It was like a potrait of his mother painted in crude, darker shades. His Aunt Bellatrix attempted something of a smile, showing her decaying teeth. One may blame Azkaban for the corrosion of her beauty, but in Draco's opinion, her wickedness had finally just rotted her from the inside out. At least now her appearance better suited her personality.

"Darling Draco, I see you're still here. It's been so long I was curious what had become of you."

Her dark eyes pierced him. He knew it was crucial to select his words carefully.

"I have remained here to ensure my ancestral home is not overrun like some abandoned shack in my fathers absence. I have my own business to tend to here."

"Draco, no need to lie to Auntie Bella. True, the Dark Lord is displeased with your father, but do not hide from your master, as if you could. You must stand up and fight like the others. Be a man."

She stood up, and he shifted a little. Even when he was a child, Bellatrix had made him uncomfortable.

"Are you alone?"

"I.." He began, weighing his options, none of which were very good. "I have a muggleborn held captive. Caught by some of our lot and brought here. Thought she'd be useful."

"I see. Well, let's have a looksy! Show it to me." She demanded.

"I will not be ordered.." he began, but Bellatrix did not wait for him.

"No matter, I will find her myself. Perhaps I can sniff it out by the stench of dirty blood."

She laughed at her own joke and swept across the room. Draco followed nervously, wondering how best to handle the situation. Bellatrix began blasting doors open with her wand, calling loudly "come out, come out!"

"Allow me," Draco said, "before you destroy my home. The prisoner is in here."

He hurried past her, needing at least a few seconds lead. He reached the ballroom but before he opened the door, he concentrated on a non verbal spell, hoped for the best, then entered with Bellatrix at his heels.

No longer wearing the nice clothing provided by the enchamted wardrobe, Gramger stood in dirty rags and bare feet looking petrifired.

"What's it doing in here, keeping house? That's what elves are for. Prisoners are for torturing."

"Don't concern yourself, Bellatrix. I'll do with her as I wish." Draco said.

"I'm only making conversation, dear nephew. Curious as to why it isn't in the dungeon where prisoners belongs. Honestly, letting that mudblood presence taint these lovely, purebloods dwellings. Shall I escort it there myself?"

Bellatrix clawed at Hermione, who reacted quickly by swatting at Bellatrix's hand.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione shouted.

She had no wand, no defense, but Draco would put them both in immense danger if he intervened.

"Manners, mudblood!" Bellatrix shrieked, waving her wand and knocking Hermoine to the floor.

"Bellatrix, leave her to me, I insist. She is my prisoner and will be taught by my hand. I do not need your help."

Draco spoke cooly but his temper was rising. He walked to Hermoine and jerked her up rather forcefully, and steered her in the direction of the door.

"I do believe you are going soft, nephew. What would the Dark Lord think of.."

Bellatrix never finished her sentence because Draco aimed his wand directly at her chest.

"Test me then, my dear aunt, see if my blood is cold enough to curse my own family without remorse. Go on!"

Bellatrix looked surprised.

"You are making a mistake, Draco. I am not the enemy. Come away with me. I am returning to the Dark Lord tonight, come and renew your loyalty. Perhaps we toss the mudblood in the sea on the flight there."

"I will dispose of my prisoner on my own accord. Goodbye."

He gave her his best sneer, and she returned it.

"Auntie Bella is never far away, Draco, remember that. Enjoy playing with your toy. Savor the screams."

She walked forward, kissed Draco's cheek, and pinched Hermoine's so hard a purple bruise begin to form immediately. Bellatrix pulled up the hood of her cloak and left the ballroom. A moment later, a loud pop told Draco she disapparated. He exhaled.

"Charming, isn't she?" Draco asked.

Hermoine was rubbing her cheek and did not answer.

"What happened to your wand, anyway?" He asked.

"I dropped it when those two goons grabbed me and brought me here. I don't think they saw, neither made to reach for it. Probably still there in such a remote area. Draco," she looked up at him. "Why are you protecting me from these people?"

"Pro- protecting?" He laughed. "You don't get it. You do not belong to them, they have no say."

"I don't belong to you," she said.

"Oh?" He leaned in so close he was breathing in her ear "I think otherwise."

She recoiled, he didn't blame her.

"That's enough for tonight. Go to bed."

She hurried from the room without being told twice. Draco flicked his wand, the chandeliers went dark and the life was extinguished from the room once more.

That night he tried to rest, but dreamt of Bellatrix, taunting him, and a dementor gliding through his open window, and a girl, leaping off a high cliff, falling, almost reaching the crashing waves below.

Authors note: In case you forgot, these characters do not belong to me but are the property of Ms. Rowling. If you are reading this, I hope you have enjoyed the story so far. Please give me your thoughts, good or bad. Updating soon. Until next time, XOXO


	4. chapter 4

Hermione was already seated for breakfast and on her second cup of tea when Draco entered the room, seating himself at the head of the table opposite of her.

"Sleep in?" She asked, looking at her teacup rather than at him.

"I don't _sleep_ _in_ , Granger. I had an errand, not that it's your business." Draco said.

The truth was he hadn't slept much at all. He kept waking up from bad dreams, then would lay and think about the visit from his aunt, and how he kept finding himself being decent to Granger on minute and foul the next. Finally he abandoned his attempt to rest all together and got out of bed before dawn.

The house elf scurried in, filling Draco's cup and draping a cloth napkin over his lap.

"Glad to see you didn't get wet," she said, sipping her tea.

"Excuse me?"

"It's raining again."

"And? For Merlin's sake it's called a drying spell. Honestly, I thought you were supposed to be bright."

"Drying spell, of course," she said as the house elf piled eggs on her plate.

Draco waited, knowing enough about her to never assume she's finished talking.

"It's just-"

Ah, there we go.

"-I thought perhaps you apparated farther out of the area, some place where it isn't raining."

She prodded her eggs with her fork, still looking anywhere but at him.

"I _just_ said it was none of your business, meaning don't worry that bushy head of yours over my whereabouts because whether I was in Knockturn Alley or fucking Antarctica, it is equally none of your concern."

She chewed her toast thouroughly, swallowed, and took another bite.

When Draco felt sure her mouth was too occupied to retort he picked up his own utensils and began cutting his sausage.

"You wouldn't last 10 seconds in Antarctica."

His knife and fork clanked loudly slammed them back down.

"Bloody hell Granger, didn't your parents teach you any manners? Like how to refrain from spewing snarky comments or at least how to not talk with your mouth full?"

"Of course not, they were muggles."

"So because they were muggles they were too daft to teach you basic fucking manners? That's ridiculous."

"Isn't it?"

Finally she was looking at him, and the triumphant protrusion of her jaw made what little appetite he had slip away completely.

Already exhausted from the night before and in no mood for her attitude, Draco stood up and threw his napkin into his plate, abandoning his breakfast.

The house elf scurried forward.

"Is Mastor finished already? He isn't eaten all of his breakfast. Is Master not liking what Chauncey cooked? Chauncey will cook something else! He can make Master's favorite instead-"

"No," Draco snapped, "in fact, take our guest's plate as well. She is finished eating."

Hermione, who was not finished eating, did not object when the elf gathered her half full plate and untouched fruit cup and hurried away with it to the kitchen.

She stood up and pushed her chair in.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To my room."

"You mean my room."

"Excuse me?" she asked, her face flushing with red.

"My room. Every room under this roof is _my_ room. You are only a guest, remember that."

"Don't worry, one does not just forget they are a prisoner," she said bitterly.

"Prisoner? You know who is a prisoner, Granger? My father. Locked away in a grimy cell guarded by dementors, eating slop and listening to the other prisoners around him slowly descend into madness as he feels his own grasp on reality start to slip away. Tell me, would you like to trade places with him? I'm sure he wouldn't be opposed."

He thought she looked ashamed of herself, for which he was glad, but then she opened her mouth again.

"It's his own fault he is in Azkaban."

"He was put in Azkaban oncr for following the Dark Lord's orders. Now he has been put back in for _not_ following the Dark Lord's orders, who if you've failed to notice is in charge now. So tell me, what was he supposed to do?"

"Rebel."

"Yes, there is always that. It's worked out great for you thus far. Not so sure about Potter and Weasel, though. How are they doing, by the way? Forgive me for not asking sooner, unfortunately your lack of manners appears to be rubbing off on me."

If her face was red before, it was absolutely scarlet now.

"Where were your goons when you were getting captured, anyway?"

She didn't answer.

"It's rude to-"

"I don't give a damn what you think is rude, Malfoy! You know what I think is rude? Holding someone against their will! You can say I'm not a prisoner, but just because my living conditions aren't as deplorable as Azkaban doesn't make me any less captive."

"You wouldn't make it out there."

"I was making it!"

"Until you got captured."

"By your people!"

"Lucky for you."

"How fucking so?"

"Language, Granger."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I am not. It isn't lady like."

"You presumptuous, ferret-faced prick!"

"Thank you?"

It looked as if steam may erupt from her ears, a more intense version of the look she would get when Snape ignored her in class, refusing to call on her despite her frantic hand raising.

It was strange to recall times like that from their school days when he never in his wildest dreams would've imagined having a row with Granger in his dining room over breakfast.

She folded her arms across her chest stubbornly waiting for the next blow.

"Be mad all you want, Granger. If you were still out there, you'd be dead by now."

"There are worse things than death."

"Bloody hell were you always this dramatic? Do you seriously expect me to believe you think being dead is better than being here?"

"That's not what I said."

"That's kind of exactly what you said."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what the fu-"

"I meant I am not afraid to die! Especially if it's for a reason, like fighting the injustices of our world, or protecting someone I love! It is better than doing nothing! Death is not worse than standing by and allowing terrible things to happen just because you're too afraid of what might happen to you if you try and stop it!"

Draco did not have a response prepared for this, which allowed her to take advantage of the silence.

"You would have died for your mother, wouldn't you, Draco? You would have died trying to do whatever you had to do to keep her safe. I know you-"

"I swear, Granger, close that insufferable hole in your face before I-"

"Kill me?"

"That's not what I was going to fucking say!"

"Do your worst, Malfoy! I'm not afraid of you!"

"You should be!"

"Too bad."

Draco's head was pounding with the exsertion of arguing. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had challenged him.

"Look, Granger, if you would rather go out and get yourself killed-"

"What do you care if I do?"

"I don't!"

"I know!"

They were inches from eachother's face when a small squeek made them both look around.

They had been yelling too loud to notice Chauncey, who stood in the doorway with a stack of envelopes in his trembling hands.

"S-so sorry Master Malfoy, Chauncey is not meaning to interupt, he is just bringing in the m-morning post. He will wait outside the door till you is calling for him."

The elf bowed out of the room hastily, tripping over his own feet as he went.

Draco looked back to Hermione. The anger seemed to dissolve from her eyes which were now full of concern and maybe a little guilt as she stared at the spot where the house elf had been standing.

If she thought this was the worst Chauncey had seen, she should have been here when he had to serve dinner to the Dark Lord during meetings with the Death Eaters. There was one instance with a snake and a former Hogwarts' professor that even Draco couldn't shake. It had kept Chauncey up for 6 days straight before Draco thought to order him to sleep.

While he was distracted by the memory, Hermione tried to make her exit.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"Are you serious?"

"As a Cruciatus curse."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to my- your- I am going to lay down."

"Not without asking to be excused, you're not."

He could see her bite the inside of her cheek furiously.

"May I be excused?"

He waited.

"Please," she added reluctantly.

"You may."

Her eyes narrowed and she walked briskly past him.

"See, Granger," he called after her, "manners matter."

Draco sat back down at the table and massaging his temples and called for the house elf.

With a pop, Chauncey appeared next to him.

"Master Malfoy called, sir?"

"I'll take the post now, and a fresh pot of tea. Add a few shots of firewhiskey."

"Right away, sir," he bowed.

Within a minute, Chauncey returned, setting down the teapot and three envelopes on the table before Draco.

The firewhiskey was prominent in the first sip, burning his hoarse throat while somewhat soothing the tension in his neck. He pulled the post toward him.

The topmost envelope was thick and addressed in delicate handwriting similar to his own. His mother wrote often, but her letters often made Draco miss her more and he didn't particularly look forward to them. He set it aside for later, too worked up at the moment to read it.

The second envelope was cream colored and sealed with wax, his monthly statement from Gringott's, nothing that required immediate attention.

The third was the smallest and looked as if it were hand folded from plain paper. It had no written address, no name. The only thing on it at all were two initials scrawled on the back.

"H.G."


End file.
